


Towers and Tricksters

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Arranged Marriage, Biopunk, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Style, M/M, Tricksters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Lord English dead and the Condesc's regime replaced with the new Empress Feferi's, the planet of Skaia is pulling itself together in the aftermath of world war.<br/>Young royals of the weathered nations are thrust into leadership, and must now forge new alliances- but some cultural gaps may be too hard to bridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Red_and_R3d](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_and_R3d/gifts).



Their sun was dying.

Its collapse was imminent, and with no way to reverse the damage of time the four populated worlds of the Skaian Galaxy were forced to pool their resources. They consulted their sciences, their gods, their books and magicks and eventually turned their eyes to a new universe, young and promising. They poured the people and relics of their worlds into ships, and left their homelands behind. After a long and arduous journey, they arrived at the single viable planet that proved to be their salvation.

The planet was large, greater than any of theirs combined, and even with their combined forces the terraforming process took years. Each civilization fashioned a portion for themselves, modeling it after the planet they'd lost to preserve their migrated crops and wildlife. The Dersites and Prospitians grew continents of purple and gold crystal, while the Alternians chose the heat-baked desert lands, where the nights were long and the days were scorching. The Zillyans… well, no one's quite sure what it was that they did. Hailing from a small planet on the edge of the system, they'd always kept to themselves, and weren't interested in changing the trend. No one would hear from the Zillyans following their settling on the far side of the planet, their existence soon becoming no more than a footnote in the earliest pages of history. For generations children would react with bewilderment to learn that there was even a fourth kingdom at all.

Centuries had passed since the colonization, and the vast planet of Skaia had since grown into a rich and diverse place, steeped in the revels of magic and technology.

Derse was holy land to the Dark Gods, blessed by the Noble Circle of the Furthest Ring. Dressed in dark, elegant fabrics the people tended to their intricate temples, refining their technology through mysticism and magic. Beneath their sustained cover of darkness, the kingdom seemed to be steeped in an eternal night. 

Their twin land was Prospit, which could not be more different. Their people were not the mystic intellectuals of Derse. Powered by steam and heavy mechanics, they believed in hard work and getting their hands dirty. Their towers were blocky and imposing, overflowing with industry. They worshipped benevolent angels beneath the golden river of energy that laced and ribboned through their skies, lighting up their nights to the brightness of day. 

Alternia was a different matter entirely, for its people were not human at all. The trolls, nocturnal with their foreign customs and organic technology, had vehicles that scuttled on insect-like legs and computers that hummed with the functions of their tiny organs. Their land was harsh and creatures viscous, but their cities were grand and complex hives of commerce.

It was as if this was the way life for their races had always been, with the old worlds being mere dreams.

* * *

 

Crimson Alternian ships had descended swiftly, breaching the thick plumes of eternal cloud cover that blanketed Derse's skies. Her Condescension had arrived, apparently looking to absorb all of Skaia into her empire. With their brute strength, psionics and physical durability, the trolls had the advantage. It was the biggest war in Skaia's history.

After two years of only barely scraping by, the gods showed their beleaguered people a solution: far away, on their enemy’s homeland, a crimson-blooded troll had hidden himself away for his mutation. Through him they could revive a centuries-old movement- reawakening a rebellion that would devour the Condesc’s regime from the inside out.

A small convoy was sent to Alternia, slipping through defenses and establishing contact with rebel followers of the young Heiress, who had been impressed by the human's resilience. For the next few years, Derse and Prospit would feed the growing forces of the allied Heiress and Sufferists, investing in what would lead to the degradation of Her Condescension’s influence over her people.

Just when Alternia's strength began to wane, the armies Zillyon came out of nowhere.

Their ships seemed to sing as they whirred through the air, colored like neon candy and shooting multicolored beams of destruction. It was as unspeakably absurd as it was horrifying. The Zilly people were an uncanny cross between familiar and alien- they appeared human, if not for their unusual peachy skin (which looked downright unnatural next to the stark white of the Dersites or the deep tan of Prospitians), the vibrant swirls coloring their cheeks, and eerie grins that stretched across their faces amidst the blood and smoke of the battlefield.

There was a point where, tired and broken, surrender felt like the only option.

On the eve of the final battle the allied forces of Skaia prepared to make a final stand, a last attempt at preserving their liberty. While the Heiress engaged Her Condescension in a duel to the death, the royals of Derse and Prospit were activating the full force of their gods' blessings. Channeling the power of the Outer Gods and Angels, they cleared the way to Lord English, who in all his pride and bloodlust would participate in the final battle himself.

It’d be his last mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, the styles of Derse, Prospit and Alternia are essentially gothic-medieval DungeonPunk, Victorian SteamPunk, and Bio-Cyber Punk respectively (seriously, if you look at some of the outfits the Ancestors wore it's like they almost came out of Tron…). The Zillyon tricksters are… some kind of Germanic Fairy Tale-Punk fever dream from candyland, I dunno, you've seen ‘em.  
> Skaia's a weird place, ya feel me?


	2. Chapter 2

 

The war, from Her Condescension's first strike to Zillyon's retreat, lasted ten years.

"The main question is how pro-sead from here."

The key figures of the three nations are arranged in a ring throughout the Dersite meeting room. With all of you here, it's hard not to note how very, very young you all are. Hell, your Bro is probably the oldest one here, along with Jane at 25. Roxy and Jake follow at 21, but you, the other younger siblings and royal cousins are all in your late teens. Even the trolls are still sporting the grey skin of late adolescence, having not undergone the final molt that'll leave them jet-black. 

Yet here you all are, in the aftermath of war, trying to run these exhausted nations. It feels surreal, and the world still seems to be in a state of shock and uneasy quiet. The Prospitian mechanics can finally rest; the Dersite sanctums still at last. Alternia is pulling itself together under the rule of its new Empress. Nights don't shake with the hum of ships constantly overhead anymore.

The only problem that remains is Zillyon.

You try and fail not to look too annoyed as everyone talks over each other. You're all quite the ensemble- Dersites with purple silk gowns and doublets, the Prospitians with their corsets and ruffles, and the Alternians with their strange tight suits of leathery rubber and shell-like ornaments. Sitting at the desks your parents and precursors sat at, you still feel like kids playing dress up.

"There's no question about it! We know where they are, so let's just go over there and take them down already!" The reluctant messiah says angrily, refusing to stay in his seat (probably because that was the only height advantage he'd ever get). 

"We don't want to go in hostile and start a whole new conflict. They've already retreated." Rose says, composed as ever despite the intimidating band of trolls sitting across from her.

"So? We wanna to see 'em pay, obviously!"

"It's a satisfying sentiment, but not one that may ultimately be worth pursuing."

"For fuck's sake, they could be rallying their forces as we speak! Why're we sitting here with our thumbs up our asses like-"

"Karkat, please." The female troll in green pulls him to his chair for what must've been the third time in an hour.

"It's been three months shortstack, if they were going to attack they'd have done it by now. Their armies or resources didn't take anywhere near the beating ours did." You say, the image of boredom as the cape of your knight's garb sweeps the floor.

 This is how Lord English will have really destroyed the world- not through oppression and death, but by putting this jumbled crew of asshole kids into power. You idly wonder if your youth means that no one is even going to attempt acting professional here. Whatever. Not like there are many real adults left in authority to offend.

"They haven't exactly sent us an apology letter either, asshole. We've gotten no word from them, our messages aren't getting through to anyone."

"Maybe someone should go in person?" Jade asks from the other side of the table.

"Preferably without an army behind them." Rose nods.

"Great, sure. Who's willing to march up to psycho city with a sign reading 'gut my sorry ass please' on the front?"

Sir Cranky-Pants just won't quit, will he?

"I wasn't suggesting we go defenseless, merely with the obvious intentions of diplomacy." Rose replies coolly.

"I think we can all agree that Zillyon is dangerous." Jane says, hand folded primly on the table. "But what happens if they receive us and agree to live on peacefully? Are we going to just leave it at that and go back to the way things were?"

There's a period of silence. Everyone knows there's no going back to the past, and no one would feel comfortable if Zillyon simply disappeared again.

"...The only way to keep an eye on them would be to integrate them in with the rest of the world." Roxy says, softly in the midst of her lingering hangover. "And there are only two ways to do that- through peaceful trade and interaction, or through occupation."

There's a hum of consideration from the trolls' side of the table.

"Invading Zillyon would take a lot out of us that we may not have," the new Empress (tentatively being called Her Absolution or the Countess by her people) says, albeit with a touch of reluctance. "but I think that we need some sort of assurance of their compliance, if they're willing to give it."

"We'll go."

All eyes turn back to Rose. You see Bro raise an eyebrow at her.

"You know something we don't?"

"In anticipation of this gathering, I have been consulting the Noble Circle nonstop. The answer has been unanimously in favor of visiting Zillyon in a non-confrontational approach."

There's a titter of conversation throughout the table.

"Now see here, we adhere to the horrorterrors too," A garishly dressed seadweller speaks up, voice wobbling with an undefinable accent, "but ya can't just assume something is friendly on account of kooky 'magicks'."

"As I do recall, Counselor, you yourself channeled the gods' wrath for a brief period on the battlefield. How strange that the only troll yet capable of doing so would be such a vocal detractor."

"Everythin that happened has a logical explanation." The Counselor says, fins flaring like he’s about to break into a pre-rehearsed rant.

"Eridan, hush." The Empress sighs tiredly, toying tiredly with a bejeweled necklace. "If Derse would like to undertake a mission to make first contact, then it's their decision. If fins don't go well-"

"Like they don't return at all-"

"then we will reconvene at a later date to reassess our options. Agreed?"

There are either mumbles of assent or grudging silence, but no one speaks out again.

"Great! Now, about the _other_ porpoised arrangements, I have a compiled a list that I consider ideal." The Empress says with a bright, sharp smile. "I also have a legal advisor on standby to help you through our system, if that’s okay?"

You get the feeling she’s trying to cut down on the puns, but simply can’t entirely. 

"Feferi what the fuck are you talking about?" The short troll in gray (The Achromic? The Catalyst? Trolls and their fucking codenames) shoots her a baffled glare. "Is this why you dragged Terezi out here?"

"Yeah, send her over and we'll look at it." Bro cuts in, sitting up in his seat like he can’t wait to jump in a vent and shimmy his way out of here (and you really can't blame the guy).

"Prospit's on your way home; we'd be happy to escort her and iron things out once Derse is finished." Jane adds, also preparing to stand. "Anything else?"

No one speaks, although there are a handful of confused patrons.

"Great. Meeting adjourned."

* * *

 

 

Your name is still Dave Strider, Prince of Derse and Knight of the Realm, and your Bro is hiding something. You think Rose might be in on it, because she's in on everything. It's a little disconcerting, really. You play like you're not interested, or at the very least not concerned, but the way Bro dodges your casual query is no help. Vague-ass family you got. 'cept Roxy.

Roxy's too drunk these days to be vague about anything, but that also means that people don't make it a priority to keep her informed on much either. You're both left in the dark more often than not.

She took your parents' deaths hard, and even though a place in the back of your mind misses them too, you don't really remember them much. You were just a kid when the war started, and even before that they were always busy. In fact if it weren't for your Bro, you'd have probably been raised by some royal nanny or something. He looked out for you and your twin, training you up while Rose underwent tutelage in the temple and Roxy was busy with her programming research.

But on the bright side, that Alternian legal advisor was a lot more fun than you'd expect any lawyer to be. She tells you her name is Terezi, and the two of you banter back and forth in the tea room while your siblings finish sending off the other diplomats.There's always something off about how trolls look- their large eyes, their mouthful of fangs, the way their limbs don't hitch quite how you're used to- but none of it is actually repelling? It's weird, but you can dig it. You lean casually on the wall, medals catching the light in a way that you hope isn't too obvious. Terezi smiles anyway, like she sees right through you but enjoys the attention.

"I never saw you out on the battlefield," You were saying, thinking back to the latter years of the war when you'd finally been old enough to participate. "and a crazy chick on dragonback sounds pretty memorable."

"I was usually sent to the areas near Prospit. My considerable talents were otherwise kept close to Queen Boysenberry." She says with a sharp grin, red shades catching the light. "Most of us were, as the proper movement got started through Her Imperious Absolution's hatch-mates. We were the inner circle that infiltrated the Battleship Condescension with her."

"Yeah, we saw that explosion all the way from the capital." 

The debris seemed to rain down for hours; fire and smoke staining the sky and visible for miles.

Terezi gives you an easy shrug and waggles her eyebrows playfully.  "And you, Prince Sugarplum? They say you engaged the insidious Lord himself in combat."

"With my brother, and not for long," You admit, remembering the fearsome warlord with a twinge of discomfort. "We're not as keen as our sisters on channeling the gods, and weren't even expecting to see him there right on the ground… but you could say we held him off before Jake barreled through, lit up like a goddamn star."

"Yes, the manners in which you humans have harnessed your gods' power is indeed impressive." She hums approvingly. "The match for the Prince's hand will be an honored troll indeed."

"The what?"

The doors slide open and your siblings are here, making their way to the table and exchanging opinions on how the meeting went.

"Ah, advisor. Please join us." Rose says, beckoning to the table as the servants bring in tea and snacks.

"Don't mind if I do!" Terezi says, heading to a table with a chipper spring in her step.

You follow a little more tentatively, wondering what exactly is going on here.

"Is there a name you like being called?” Roxy asks. “I know 'Delegate Skyblade' is one of the titles floating around for you, which is super cool and all, but I dunno much about that stuff."

"Blah, this fuss over titles has been buzzing ever since the war." Terezi waves her cane in distaste. "Everyone just likes forgetting we're barely nine sweeps. Terezi Pyrope is fine."

"Very well. It seems you have prospects for us, Miss Pyrope?" Rose asks as she takes a seat.

"Indeed I do." Pyrope pulls out a touchscreen-like device, only it looked as if it could come alive and start crawling across the table at any moment.

Troll tech is so freaking weird.

"We just wanted to show you your options and get a feel for your preferences. Few were willing to give their pale quadrant and ashen is tricky to negotiate, but there are still several trolls with whom the Countess feels any match would prove beneficial.”

"Hold on a second here," You say, now thoroughly confused. "Just what are we talking about?"

Everyone looks at you like you’re the dumbest ass who ever wore pants.

"Marriage, brother." Rose says, voice pleasant and patronizing. "Over the course of this war, Derse and Prospit have experienced great economic upheaval. Alternia has literally been tearing itself apart in civil war, and their society is undergoing drastic change. The fight may be over, but as a consequence our nations will have to depend heavily on one another in these coming times."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"You're a Prince of Derse." Bro says, raising an eyebrow at you over his shades. "What did you expect was going to happen when you turned eighteen?"

"You're twenty-five! Roxy's twenty-one!"

"Yeah, and we've been at war for ten years. Now we're not. Hoo-rah." Bro turns to Pyrope (who seems thoroughly entertained by the proceedings) in an obvious dismissal. "So The Empress has a few preferences of her own she'd like us to consider."

"Just do bear in mind that we can't confirm any engagements until after consulting the Outer Gods."

"Of course. We did operate on the assumption that you were indifferent to gender; I hope that wasn't too presumptuous." Pyrope scrolled through something on her tablet.

"We'll take every option into account. I'm also quite curious about Trollish quadrants." Rose says, steepling her fingers delicately.

"Rose, what, no," You look up, horrified. "don't make this worse than it's gotta be just to satisfy your weird xeno-curiosity."

"On the contrary brother, I am genuinely intrigued. Not to mention the multi-faceted romance system of the trolls offers us more opportunity to assist our nations." Rose says with a slight smile. "We might as well go all in at this point."

You grimace behind your shades, arms folding defensively. "Great. Let's go shopping for an alien bride harem, sure."

"Don't be so moody, Davey." Roxy gives you an affectionate ruffle, looking surprised but also curious regarding this turn of events. "So lay out our options for us, chief."

"For starters, we must insist the one of you agree to quadranting the Achromic." Pyrope says, corner of her mouth twitching as if to grin wider. "The Sufferist resurgence was a massive influence in gaining widespread support during the early days of the resistance."

"Who, the shouty shrimp?" 

You're pretty sure Bro is going to beat your ass later for how un-diplomatic you're being, but the asshole wore triangle shades to a world meeting, he's just as bad as you are.

Terezi only cackles, reminding you that she and said runt probably grew up together.

"That shouty crustacean is a knight of the realm, as well as the figurehead to a movement followed by over half of our population."

"You're kidding."

"It was a cult following at first, but with the support of the Empress and the threat of being culled for treason no longer in effect, acceptance has blossomed quite well! There are many stubborn highbloods to persuade, but thanks to their smaller number the new system has been going much more smoothly than anticipated." Pyrope says. "Hence why giving him official political relevance is so ideal at the moment."

Bro flips a folder shut (what the hell did he get a paper copy and not deign to share??) in a dismissive action.

"Fine. Give him to Dave."

"What!? Bro!" You're not sure if he's having a go at you or genuinely serious, but part of you fears it may be the latter.

Sure, the little jerk wasn't unattractive, technically speaking, but getting married was enough cause to freak out without the added complications of getting tangled in with the strangeness of troll culture. Plus you… aren't entirely certain how you feel about guys.

"He's a knight, you're a knight, he's a moody brat, you're a moody brat, I ship it already." Bro says. "Next."

You're about to speak up again, but Rose is already taking over the conversation.

"We should be so fortunate to have first pick before the Prospitians. I imagine a connection with the Sufferists will open a lot of doors for us in the new infrastructure of Alternia."

"I'm glad you think so! There is a certain Jade-blooded female who’s also been becoming rather vocal in our politics lately..."

"Yes, Lady Maryam. I've had the fortune of making her acquaintance outside of meetings."

"Although, seeing as she is of a rare blood caste, we would prefer if she were still able to contribute to the slurry."

Ergh, there were still aspects of the trolls that weirded you the fuck out.

"I'll keep her in my thoughts at any rate when it comes time to consult the gods."

"Ah, question." You say, gaining their attention again. "Just how are we supposed to continue our lineage if we all enter interspecies marriages?"

A brief pause, with Pyrope raising her eyebrow in mild surprise. "We did not presume to assert one of our own for the Black Throne, and supposed Prince Dirk would-"

"My Bro is as gay as the day is long, Skyblade."

You are so getting your ass kicked after this, you can see it on your Bro's deadpan ‘r u srs’ face, but fuck it you're irritable today and it's worth it.

"It's been tentatively suggested that Roxy might marry John," Rose says.

"John's going to co-rule with Jane; their gods will never approve of the Prospitian heir marrying a Dersite channeler, just like the Outer Gods won't let Bro marry someone who's let the Angels in."

It'd been a long time since there were any sort of volatile feelings between your nations, but that fact remained that Prospit and Derse were rooted in opposing disciplines, their respective gods having always been more or less repulsed with one another.

"The Old Ones will show the correct path for each of us, as well as the future of this nation. This is just a preliminary discussion." Rose says, patting a troubled-looking Roxy (you try not to feel a tad guilty for putting her on the spot and fail) on the shoulder. "So do shut up, Dave."

You do, making your displeasure known in silence. At least you can hope the gods would look at your proposal, say 'hell nah' and present you with a more appealing prospect from the depths of their inky, be-tentacled hearts.

Maybe Dean could take Nubs. Everyone pretty much considered you two the same person, they wouldn't care.

Speaking of which, have people just stopped caring about where he gets off to all the time? Apparently the youngest sibling does get all the slack, even it's only by minutes…

You pretty much tune everything out from then on, from Roxy checking out that fish douche to Rose inquiring more about quadrants. You see Pyrope off when it's over but you'd be lying if you said you felt up to more flirting after recent revelations.

Marriage. You'd kind of expected it someday but…

Yeesh, were you really that old already?

You're about to head to the royal residential wing of the castle when a firm hand grasps your shoulder.

"Not so fast, little man."

Fuck.

Your name is Dave Strider and your Bro is about serve your ass on a platter with garnish and side dishes. 

* * *

 

By the time you make your way up to your twin's room you feel like toppling over and never waking up again, but fuck that you're a Strider and a knight and you're going to fucking walk like you don't feel nothing. Dean raises an eyebrow at you from where he's practically lounging out of his window. He's been in your position more than a few times and could see right through you anyway.

"I take it the meeting went swimmingly."

There's the winged insignia of the aviation fleet on his shirt, and his skin's a touch more tan from flying over the cloud cover and actually meeting sunlight more than once a year. Aside from that and some minor alterations in the proportions of your build (he's lean, and you're a tad bulkier from extensive swordsmanship), you were nearly identical. Having 'two of you' seemed cool enough to you as a kid, but Dean had always been pretty sullen about it. It was probably why he diverged from you and sought out the sky fleet in the first place. The gap between twins just kept getting wider, but you kept your mouth shut because being his own person was your brother's right.

He looks at you expectantly, and you briefly flashback to when you'd pulled him out the smoking wreck of his glider, right arm mauled as all hell.

"Whoa man. Don't go making that face at me, it makes me think someone died. Oh no, someone finally lost it at the meeting, didn't they? Who’s dead, Dave? Is it John? Fuck, I told him, I said 'John with a face as punchable as yours you need a paper bag for-"

"Oh shut up asshole. You'd know how the meeting went if you deigned to grace us with your presence once in a while."

"Eh, you know I've got better things to do with my time than watch you tools stumble all over yourselves, playing politicians. I've got nothing to say to that." He slides himself around so he's facing you, still sitting on the open windowsill. You pretend your eyes didn't immediately go to the stump of where he lost his arm at the elbow, even though you both know. He always wanted for people to be able to tell you two apart, but you're sure this wasn't what he had in mind.

He can't fly anymore. Dirk and Roxy say they're working on designing and programming a vessel that can be operated one-handed, but there's an honorable discharge from the fleet crumpled somewhere in the depths of this room, and there's no changing that. Maybe if he'd just stayed on the ground when Lord English came up on you, if he'd let you fight him off yourself instead of straining his already ruined body to save your stupid ass…

Well, you'd probably be dead.

"You could have a little sympathy for your dear double and keep me from losing my mind in there." You say, plopping yourself on his bed with a flourish.

"Oh sure, bro. I'll get myself a tinkly hat and pointy shoes and really embrace my new career of keeping you entertained."

You flip him off. "It'd be an improvement from sitting up here all day staring at nothing. You're going to start letting yourself go at this rate."

"It's the first thing on my to-do list. Just eating my weight in cupcakes and laughing at you as you're forced to parade in front of those stuck-up highbloods."

A grimace crosses your face then. "Yeah, looks like my future's going to have a lot of that in it."

Dean gives you a confused eyebrow-quirk as invitation to continue, so you splay yourself out on the unmade dressing of his bed dramatically.

"It's happening, man. They're selling us off."

"Pardon."

"We've officially crossed the line between 'royal baby rapscallions' and 'imperial mealticket'. Ugh, you should have seen the little imp Bro's trying to give my maiden hand to."

"Damn. Well I guess we kind of saw this coming." Dean says with a mildly put-out shrug. "Who'd you get?"

"The short one with the horns."

"The Achromic."

"The fact that you knew exactly who I was referring to makes me weep little internal tears."

"He's kinda cute. I heard he wanted to be some kind of army figure, but the Empress pushed him into that whole 'high priest' thing instead. Still keeps trying to muscle his way into military affairs, but she ain't having it."

"Yeah, he definitely had a lot to say tonight." You say with a scoff.

"I'm just saying he's got spunk. That can be hot."

"See, I can't tell if you're mocking me or trying to cheer me up."

"The eternal mystery."

"Why don't you take him?"

"And come between your epic true love? Nah. I'm not that heartless."

"Prick."

"So any word on which gray-skinned honey I'm gonna get? Or am I too delicate to get pressured into political matrimony too?"

"No one's treating you that way, man. You're the one who doesn't want to participate in anything."

"Maybe I, along with everybody else, know I've got nothing to contribute."

There's an uncomfortable silence, and you decide to just fess up what you’ve been thinking.

"To be honest, they might match you with Jade. Aside from Bro, you and I are the only ones who haven't let the Outer Gods in, and-"

"With Bro being a flaming homo and you being more likely to gain the respect of the Alternians, I'm the most viable for providing an heir. Right."

You know Dean and Jade had a little wartime romance not so long ago, and while you aren't keen on the specifics, you have a feeling it ended on less-than stellar terms. The Striders are many things; alas grade-A communicators is not one of them.

The bed bounces as your twin drops himself beside you.

"I could always cut off my arm and have us swap places like in the old days." You say.

…

"Dude."

"I'm thinking."

"You utter piece of shit.” You pause mid-laugh. “Oh yeah, and apparently Rose wants to go to Zillyon? That was probably the more important news.”

The pillow that hits your face knocks your shades clean off.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels so weird calling Davesprite that, but he needed a normal name bluh
> 
> (psst my tumblr is wisp-queen if you ever wanna say hi)


	3. Chapter 3

Without access to the sky, a chain of clockworks and fairy flames are arranged all throughout Derse. They declare the hours with everything from the soft chimes and blue flickers of evening, to the booming gongs and golden flames of noon.

Bro had long removed the clock from his own chamber and dumped it in your own, because apparently the steady ticking was driving him insane or something. Whatever. You don't mind, despite not having any real need for them. When your grandmother christened li'l baby you in the sanctum, she declared you to be blessed by the element of Time. You can only be so grateful to live in a kingdom of eternal night, elsewise the ability to always know the hour might've been really useless.

Out of habit you lazily turn to consult the subtle lick of fire hovering coolly over your bedside, and it's still the dark hue of midnight.

The knocking at your door becomes more insistent.

You huff and roll out of bed, straightening your shirt and grabbing your shades with the other hand. With your sleep-clothes ruffled, hair mussed and shades half down your nose, you answer with the best 'are you fucking serious' look in your arsenal.

It has absolutely no affect on Rose whatsoever.

"Morning, brother. I come bearing most exciting news."

"Rose, I know what time it is, and it is absolutely nowhere near the vicinity of morning. It missed morning and drove right the fuck off into the next county without stopping for fuel. No don't try to argue with me, you know who the Time expert is here."

She's not listening. She's riding on a high right now, the kind of buzz she only gets from a successful pow-wow with the Old Gods.

"When you are done with your garrulous nonsense Dave, please do meet the rest of us in the observatory."

Rose leaves with a swish of her lace skirts, giving you a face-full of that incense they smog up the High Temple with.

You don't bother to change into proper clothes- it's past midnight and you don't give a fuck. Instead you find some slippers, managing to put them on the right feet after only a few tries, and start irritably sleepy-duck shuffling down the hall. Servants who use the late hours to clean the castle shoot you curious looks, but keep out of your way. The observatory is literally at the top of the mountain the castle's built upon, and after an endless fucking conga line of stairs you kick the door open, looking like the image of deadpan grumpiness that you are.

"… Sup."

"Ah, Dave. How nice of you to join us."

Roxy is definitely falling asleep on a table. Bro looks infinitely more awake than you (does he ever sleep?), but still seems irritable as he leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

"Why don't you tell us what's going on, Rose." He says shortly.

"I was hoping to wait for Dean, but he's fallen back asleep and I don't suspect he'll be joining us." Lucky bastard. "Very well. As you know I've been in counsel with the gods, and they have been most approving of our arrangements, Dave."

It takes a minute to run through her words again, because you were zoned out and not paying attention.

"… What."

"It seems they're actually very fond of the Achromic- unsurprising, considering it was through their insight that we located him and helped revive his movement in the first place."

"What do the gods care about some scrawny off-color troll, or Alternian politics for that matter?"

"The Alternians revere the gods too, Dave, albeit under another name." Rose says pleasantly. "I do admit though that their fascination with the Achromic seems to be for more spiritual reasons."

"He has as much spirituality as a paper cup. With old mouthwash in it."

Rose gives an airy shrug, still too jittery to pay your bad mood any mind.

"Hnff- wut about us?" Roxy asks drowsily, Bro jolting her from her snooze mid-snore.

"Unfortunately the gods were not particularly moved by any of the Alternian prospects, as far as you or Dirk are currently concerned. Which brings me to the more interesting part of the night!" Rose moves to the observatory console, rattling the various dials.

At once the dome of the building begins to shift, the Eye of Light (aka the lens of the big-ass scope pointing at the sky) rotating in its position. She flips a dial, applying the filter that would allow it to pierce the clouds. At once the room is filled with projections of stars and faraway rivers of dust.

"Please direct your attention to the above constellation." Rose runs her fingers over the control orb, zooming in on a vibrant star of red and green light. "I was given a very strong image of this object, which as you know is the primary star of the Seven Continents."

You were all going to pretend you knew what that was, right?

Silence.

Right, good.

"It is part of the constellation Calmasis, the winged duality serpent. It is rarely visible in Alternia, but we and Prospit are fortunate enough to hold its favor for a while before it returns 'home', so to speak."

"Home?"

Rose nods. "As you may have guessed, it is a most pivotal constellation in the Zilly Calendar Wheel. Calmasis is the constellation of royalty, divinity, and marks the beginning of their New Year."

"This is all very fascinating Rose, but it's early and I'm not seeing the correlation." Bro says, nudging Roxy awake again.

"That is because you don't know that out of Zillyon's seven seasons, the first is the month of Frivolity- a time of peace and celebration of life for their people. A most ideal time to send an envoy, if I do say so myself."

"You're pretty fond of this idea, aren't you." You say, yawning.

"I'm fond of reaching a peaceful resolution of the Zillyon ‘complication’, yes." Rose turned back to Bro. "You and Roxy are to make diplomatic contact, in-person, with the Zilly people before the end of the month. The gods will have no more word on your future plans until then."

"Why me? I mean, why us?" Roxy asks, sitting up. "I don't know much about international relations."

"You're a hell of a lot more personable than Bro." You try to say under your breath, but in a quiet dome words tend to carry.

No one can really argue with you there, though. Not when Bro's idea of consoling Dean after his accident was a month of brutal non-stop training in the use of his left arm.

You're pretty sure your Bro is flipping you off with his eyes, but he quickly shifts back to Rose.

"So what's your plan, sis."

"You and Roxy make arrangements to travel, while Dave and I report the good news to the Countess."

You open your mouth to protest the positivity of said news, but the look she shoots you says 'our dark overlords have spoken, bitch'.

You don't know what to say to that, aside from you feeling completely whipped by your siblings.

"What about Dean, then?"

"Dean is to hold down the fort here on Derse until we return from our respective negotiations."

"Are you sure?" Roxy asks. "I mean, Dean hasn't exactly felt up to participating lately."

"He will." Rose says as she shuts down the observatory, constellations winking out and leaving them in darkness. “Trust me.”

* * *

 

 

The young Empress doesn't even try to contain her joy when you tell her the marriages are a go.

"This is so glubbin exciting!"

"You're positive she's Her Condescension’s descendant?" You whisper, nodding at the speaker her voice is talking out of.

"You realize we might take a while to get back to you regarding anyone else." Bro says, swatting you. "Our business with Zillyon is going to have to take precedence."

"Don't even worry atrout it! It's seariously fintastic of you to volunteer for the directive at all! We're a bit pinned down here, but let us minnow what you find!"

"(fef, yer puns,)" Is whispered somewhere off to the side on Alternia's end.

"Oh, right! Sorry, we've just been reely- ah, really eager to get started on some of the new changes around here, and having you and Prospit involved will be a big kelp. Help, ugh!"

Holy fuck she's adorable.

"We're still in damage control from the civil war, but we've got a lot of ideas on how to move forward, don't we Eridan?"

"(i still don't see why wwe gotta wait around on account of their mumbo jumb-ow!)" A thwack is heard somewhere in the background.

"(you pike down mister, if the horrorterrors want something done a certain wave they'll get it!!)" The Empress' disembodied voice mutters irritably.

Thank the Furthest Ring, these assholes are just as disjointed and fucked up as you are.

"Right! So you can just send Prince Dave and Princess Rose on over! We'd love to announce them to our people, and of course introduce them properly to their new matesprits!"

Aaaaand they can all suck on your cock.

You shoot a desperate glance to Bro, who gives you a long-suffering look in return before thumping you on the back sympathetically.

It's his way of saying 'You're fucked, sorry kid, now remember to pack sunscreen cause you know you'll burn like Lord English in hell if the sun so much as sneezes some vitamin D at you.'

"Yeah, we'll look right into that." He says, messing up your hair like he knows you hate. "For the moment though, we were told you had something of a double-agent in your ranks? A troll who’s actually been to Zillyon?"

"(more like a triple agent. who knows what fuckin side he was ever on at a time)."

"(eridan, i swear)!" A polite cough. "Ah, yes, the Black Informant."

"(way cooler name than he deserves if yer askin' me, even if it does strip him of blood status-)"

"As I was saying, Gamzee Makara spent years shuffling his way back and forth from Alternia to Zillyon."

"How did he manage that?"

"Our realm was in utter chaos during the war, and if you knew him… well, his shoddy attendance didn't raise many eyebrows."

"But he's still alive. Why." Bro asks.

"He betrayed them and came clean with an abundance of information a little over a year prior to the war's end. Normally it wouldn't be enough to save him from an old-world culling, but it was pivotal in our counter-intelligence- especially in the infiltration of the Battleship Condescension." A sigh. "On top of that he's the matesprit of the Aeronaut, who himself played a powerful role in the overthrowing of the old regime."

"The fact that said Aeronaut is descended from one of your people's original freedom fighters and is thus a huge public figure also helped, I’m guessing." Bro says,

"Hence why we wanted him to cooperate in an arrangement with one of the Prospitian royals.'" The Empress says tiredly. "Tavros and Gamzee both grew up with me, but I admit it was a difficult decision. As it is I was incredibly lenient by sentencing him to life imprisonment under his matesprit's custody."

"I'll say. But if you want to give him an additional chance to redeem himself, our railway only goes as far as the coast. My sister and I are gonna need a guide for a quest to the other side of the planet."

"I sea… I bassume you'll have an escort of your mages with you as well?"

"We'll be bringing some of the Royal Guard with us, yeah. Don't think it'll come to that though."

"Whale if this is what you need, I'll send Tavros the message and get back to you."

"Great, we'll make a swap of it at the border." Bro says, apparently reveling in making you cringe.

"You'll hear from us soon!"

The call ends, and you actually feel a piece of your soul drop past your gut, down to your feet and through the floor. It's gone now. Poof.

"Bro-"

"Kid, it's happening. Just give it a chance, alright?" You let him wreck your hair again and watch him leave.

Fuck your life without lube, you’re going on a trip.


	4. Chapter 4

You manage to stay still as you're fitted into your ceremonial armor, despite being jittery as hell. You hide it behind a stoic face like usual, but it doesn't change the fact that your skin is crawling with anxiety.

They deck you out in varying shades of crimson silk and thick velvet, layered shirts and sleeves and gloves. The plating they fit over has been polished to a high shine, becoming nearly as reflective as the mirror you stand before. There's a sense of finality to it; the clasp of the vambrace, the tight confines of the cuirass and the chink of the spaders as they hinge on your shoulders. Everything's so soft, so bright, so clean- you don't feel like you're stepping onto a battlefield, that's for sure. With the cuisse, pollen, grave and sabaton in place the servants blanket you in your hooded cape, which despite being the silly accessory it is, always gave you some kind of ironic comfort. The pattern of your cape's edge rests just atop the symbol of Time, which has been printed across your breastplate in vibrant red. You huff and slip on your shades, casting an irritable look at your Bro.

He's been lounging in the sill of your window, already wearing his double-breasted military coat with its high collar, fancy high-clasped belt and fringed epaulettes. Asshole was probably able to dress _himself_ this morning, the jerkass. It's all in varying shades of maroon-y and rosy pinks, sleeves edged with beaded lace and gloves going from elbow to knuckle. The holy symbol of Heart is stitched in the center of his chest, and despite looking utterly ridiculous your Bro still manages to look a thousand times more smug and superior than you.

The world just isn't fair.

"What." You say, adjusting under the weight of your armor.

"Just having bathtime flashbacks, is all." He says, flicking an imaginary speck off his knee-high forest green boots. "You used to make that exact same face whenever I managed to get you in the water. Before you started screaming and throwing bath toys at me, that is."

Your nose crinkles and you feel your head retreat further into your hackled shoulders, arms crossed petulantly (or at least as well as you can given your range of movement).

"Whatever."

Motherfucker is laughing at you, and he's not the only one. All you've been seeing lately are patronizing smiles, like you're some fussy child everyone's having to cooperate with. Oh silly you, overreacting at the prospect of living with some scrappy alien jerk in his sun-baked hive palace. What you should have done was go into the main square and unite the entire fucking city in a celebratory conga line.

"Is all your shit packed yet?"

You grumble an affirmative.

The whole morning had been a nightmare, namely because you never realized how much crap you owned.

It doesn't make sense. You're a knight goddammit, you know how to live in the wild with nothing but the clothes on your back and the seed of your own wit. There was absolutely no excuse for you to be bogged down with so much junk.

Yet whenever a servant showed you a poster, record, or preserved dead animal that you definitely didn't need, you found yourself nodding for them to pack it. They'd started to give you troubled looks, especially when the one portmanteau you'd insisted on using began to overflow.

You're becoming increasingly more aware that you've lived your whole life in this place, maneuvering around those empty aj bottles and discarded wrappers to the point that they’re ingrained in your psyche. It's surreal to think that Derse won’t be your primary home anymore.

You're caught between bringing everything with you, and not wanting to take apart your room. You would really rather if it still be here and intact when you return, as if you're only going on a brief vacation.

So eventually you pulled a 180 and told the servants to only pack your summer clothes, tech and music and to leave everything else. It’s a move you may regret later, but whatever. At the end of the day it’s still all just stuff.

* * *

 

"It's not like we're never coming back." You tell Rose in the castle hall as the servants carry a parade of velvet boxes in all shapes and sizes to the carriage.

She only raises an eyebrow at you as her effects are secured for transport, right beside your meager set of luggage. Her stuff's probably all books, anyway. Books and candles and whatever ceremonial whatnots she needs for her seances.

It's easy to dismiss her as boring and depart from her knowing gaze, so that's what you do, clanking down the hall and to the main parlor.

Because there are always, always snacks in the parlor.

You're rummaging through the assorted goods, weighing the odds of how well you'd be able to wipe it up if you wind up dropping jam on your breastplate when the door opens again.

"Yo."

"Oh hey man." You look up briefly, seeing Dean kick the door shut with his heel. "I think Roxy's taken most of the good cookies. All that's left are those dry as fuck powdery ones; like who the hell likes those?"

Dean scoffs at you and grabs a little pouch of sunflower seeds off the table, making you grimace. During the war he got a taste for that crappy packaged food they keep in the aerial fleet, like seeds and granola and nuts. Just awful.

"So judging by that getup, you're heading out soon, huh?" Dean asks.

He's dressed nicer than usual to see you off- waistcoat, glove, boots, all in Derse's colors- but compared to you it's enviously simple.

"Yeah, and you're going to be holding down the fort eh? Man of the house, or whatever." 

It's hard to tell whether your twin’s feeling left out or grateful for these circumstances. Probably both. The two of you have always been plagued by mixed signals, especially from your own selves.

"I was always man of the house."

"Bro hears you say that and he'll beat your ass." You drop into the chair beside him heavily, armor making you sink into the cushion. "It's not permanent though. We're just going to make a few announcements, oversee a few projects, and do some public appearances to help get Alternia started. Then we're coming back home."

"For how long?"

"I don't know." You say with a sigh. "I'm not like Rose, I'm not an ambassador for the 'Horrorterrors' or whatever they call them. What good am I gonna be."

"Dave, I may not attend those meetings, but it's a little hard to miss the fact that Alternia's a militant empire. You're a warrior. You fought Lord Eng-"

"We fought Lord English, you saved my ass-"

"They're going to respect you. You, a soft, pale mammal, are going to have their attention." Dean says firmly. "They're proud and might not appreciate the interference from Derse in the beginning, but as things get better they'll come to trust you. Paired with the Achromic and the Sufferists, shit's going to get done."

A pause.

"Maybe you'd have been better at it than me."

Dean gives a hollow laugh. "No, I wouldn't. I'm fucked up, Dave. And I don't just mean my arm, shut up. I'm just so done with people; I can't make myself care about any of their shit anymore."

"It's called being depressed because you're always locked up by yourself."

"I like being by myself. I don't like being outside, where everyone's always staring and giving me their pity or judgement." Dean shakes his head. "Whatever. You're gonna have a lot of crap to take care of, probably for the next few years. And it's good work and all, but I really don't think I'd have it in me."

You're trying not to make this a confrontation or a feel-y emotional talk, because Striders don't do that, but you're having unsettling flashbacks to your childhood.

_'It's always you, Dave'_. He'd said it with such disgust at the time. _'Everyone always mistakes me for you, compares me to you, chooses you first. It's always you and I hate it.'_

Dean sees the look you're giving him and groans.

"Come on, this is sooo not about my many issues or any kind of 'woe is me' bullshit, alright? What I'm saying is that you're suited for this. You're gonna be fine, if you can get your head out of your ass long enough." He punches you in the side, ineffectually making contact with your armor. "I'm not mad anymore, okay. Just fucking tired with everything, which is nothing to do with you. I'll be fine, just go on and try not to screw up."

He reaches out his fist, but avoids your gaze like the amount of emotion expressed here already exceeds his quota for the year. To be honest, it does for yours too.

"Yeah, alright." You say, meeting his fist bump halfway.

"Cool." Dean stands and makes his way to the exit. "I'm gonna go get cried on by Roxy and sassed by Rose and Bro. Catch you later, man."

* * *

 

 

It's late when you finally depart because even though Derse doesn't have a day/night cycle, Alternia does, and the days are _evil_. You don't understand why their ancestors willingly chose the hottest, driest continent of Skaia to settle on. Sure, they, their wildlife and their flora had all evolved suited to the climate, but considering everything that comes from Alternia is built and bred to wreck your shit, maybe not choosing to start fresh was a misstep.

The amount of fanfare that people make to see you off lifts your spirits some, because it is ridiculously late and the turn out for your departure is really quite decent. People don't make a lot of noise in Derse, but they wave and bow their heads respectively, many with glowing blessing stones in prayer for safe journey and return. It's legitimately awesome.

The carriage whirs and shimmers as it steers itself through the cobbled streets, and eventually out of the city gates.


	5. Chapter 5

Your name is Karkat Vantas and the moon's not even fully risen, but you can feel it in your bones. This is going to be one of _those_ nights.  

You had the same feeling right before that platoon of human assholes tracked down the shithole you were hiding in. Then they dragged you out and tossed you at a cult of pansies who climaxed if someone so much as mentioned your ancestor's name. 

Feferi, who you'd always considered a friend of sorts, was now Empress and you were no longer a pariah, but truth be told you never really minded the Condesc. Feferi's new system seems hellbent on coddling and patronizing everyone, and you're not entirely sure if that's better. At least death can be somewhat dignified.

You went along with the rebellion mainly because it was literally the only way a good chunk of your peers would survive- and hell it gave you that leadership position you always knew you deserved. You became a knight. It was great.

Then Feferi got coroneted and Her Imperial Highness all but threw you, kicking and screaming out of the armada and into the goddamn priesthood you'd fought so hard to get away from. 

The Sufferists, who you fucking hate in the most unromantic way possible, are now your fucking life. 

'It's for the good of the Empire, Karcrab!!' Feferi had said, frigid aquatic butt planted on a throne so high your neck hurt to look at her. 'You're going to serve as an inspiration in my new order!'

Eridan had kinda shrugged at you, probably thinking that a scumblood like you should be grateful for this much. Friends you may be, but you know from experience it takes more than that to cure someone of being an asshole.

"Karkat, I swear, it's like you've never even used a comb." You snap out of your reverie, scowling at her.

Kanaya's the  keeper of whatever might be left of your sanity, not that you'd ever tell her that. You have neither the patience nor the tact to be a real political presence, so she's become something of a spokestroll for the Sufferists. She also takes it upon herself to make sure you remember to eat and whatever, so apropos to her, you guess.

She's running her fingers through your hair again, even though it's already neater than it's been in weeks. Fussing is really just what she does. It may be a compromise to your personal space, but if it's not you, she'll start second-guessing her _own_ appearance, and holy fuck do you not have the time for that.

"I'm fine, yeesh." You say huffily. "Or at least as fine as I can be under the shitty circumstances." 

She tsks sympathetically, rubbing at an imaginary spot on your face.

"I admit that the whole arrangement is a bit awkward, but it is part of our Imperial duty to ensure strong connections for the Empire."

You scoff, cause you've got eyes and no one's twisting her arm to follow through on this, that's for damn sure. 

Arranged quadrantings may not be common on Alternia, but they weren't unheard of. It was mainly something that hoity-toity highbloods did to become a more formidable force, pooling resources and territories against enemies. In some cases, moirails would broker some kind of deal to get their partner a mate before Drone season. The whole concept was absurdly decadent and pompous at best, miserable and pathetic at worst. 

You've seen a multitude of romcoms that display the subject, and might have been at least a little optimistic if it wasn't a fleshy, ignorant human you'd been matched with. As it is, all you can think of is the quadrant you'll never truly fill. Feferi had insisted though, and you knew better than to disrespect her wishes as Empress.

"We should depart if we're to be punctual." Kanaya says, checking the time. "Even if you have no regard for making a good impression, I think it'd be wise."

"We've already met them, for fuck's sake." You say, batting her hands away again. "Even if we make complete asses of ourselves- which I will, let's be fucking straight here-"

"Mm,"

"it won't make a shred of difference." You continue to rant as Kanaya steers you from the hive. 

Her place is positioned right across from the Sufferist cloister and monastery, so you spend as much time bumming out of her recreation block as you can get away with.

"I mean, the Fish Queen herself all but said that we're her ticket in with Derse." 

A troupe of guards are waiting in the street outside, escorting you like a band of over-muscled highblooded buffoons are going to be anything but fodder if you come under legitimate attack.

It's insanely early, with the sun still barely set upon the horizon. You'd be more upset about that if you had much of a sleeping ethic to ruin. It's better to get places without being mobbed by assholes, anyway.

The transport vehicle clicks and chatters as it crawls down the road. Everywhere, lights from the various hivestems and blocky skyscrapers beginning to light up the city. It's different here from the suburbs you spent your youth; it's loud and crowded and busy. You don't hate it. You'd probably be a lot more content if you were still able to move around unencumbered.

"Just try your best to be cooperative, Karkat." Kanaya says beside you. "Contrary to popular belief, you're not in fact required to vocalize everything you think or feel with absolute candor."

"I can go ten minutes without starting an international incident, Kanaya." You say irritably, shifting in your seat because this attire wasn't really meant to be sat in.

You may have been dismissed, but you're still a knight and you refuse to abandon your armor completely. You're not just some mutant Feferi dressed up, you were and still are a soldier. 

It's made of forged keratin, not that painfully shiny metal the human knights have, and you wear it like a reddish-brown shell. Splashed across the chestplate is your born element of Blood, because the stars really aligned to make you an utter piece of shit. The symbol of your name is stamped on the outsides of your shoulder pads. They're still in gray, relics from when you were afforded hemo-anonymity. Underneath you wear the rubbery under-armor that encases your whole body. During the war it had monitored your vitals and helped sync you with various tech, but now it just clings to you like a second skin.

Kanaya seems to be following your train of thought because you always wear your bloodpusher on your sleeve, even when you _don't_  open your fucking mouth, and pats you daintily on the knee. Neither of you are fond of those weird leathery bodysuits most adult trolls wear. It's for movability, avoiding safety hazards and interfacing with computers, but you spent your whole wrigglerhood wearing baggy sweaters and real goddamn pants. The last thing you want to do is put the confines of your ass on display whilst addressing the entire nation. 

"I'm here for whatever you need, Karkat." She says, adjusting the arrangement of shawls that drape over her.

"Right, sure." 

You don't express how positive you are that she'll forget all about you when her new matesprit shows up, not that you could blame her. Hell, she'd be better off. You're a mess who's been living one colossal disaster after another, and it should finally be clear now that your excuse for an existence is simply beyond salvaging. You don't mention how much this guy is probably going to resent you either, or what a pain dealing with that is going to be. He's probably "human straight," because that's apparently a thing. 

"Come on," Kanaya gently prods you from your thoughts as the car jostles to a halt.

The stars glimmer overhead, and the plated carapace of the monorail shines in the rising moonlight. There are a few other vehicles parked by the station already. You assume it's more guards until one of the doors open up and reveal the absolute last person you wanted to see tonight.

"What's he doing here." You can feel the beginnings of a growl building in the back of your throat, but you fight for composure so you can at least hear Kanaya's explanation. 

"I know it's difficult," Her voice is full of distaste too, "but he has information that will prove invaluable to the Dersite expedition to Zillyon."

"They were fucking serious about that!?" You clench your fists, spotting the enviously large telltale rack that shows Tavros is with him (how did he fit in the vehicle anyway, that's just obscene).

You actually don't mind Tavros. He's a massive dork and grates on your nerves, but he's never done you wrong and contributed a surprising amount during the war. It barely bothers you that he's the matesprit of the ex-moirail who betrayed your entire group, fucked around in Terezi's black quadrant and walked away with no repercussions. 

It doesn't concern you that fucking _Tavros_ was the one to get through to Gamzee, while your entire relationship with him never amounted to anything.

It _absolutely_ doesn't even cross your goddamn mind that you were responsible for him and failed because you were a fucking idiot not to see the truth in front of you.

And it certainly, positively does not occur to you at _all_ that you were a stupid grub who wouldn't let go of something dead, and wound up being the one who got _dumped_ by a _traitor._

_You're completely fucking fine, okay?_

"Karkat, shush." Kanaya says, rousing you from your thoughts. "Unsavory though this may be, we all have our obligations to carry out."

You look at her, and despite the fact that she's clearly ticked off, you can tell she sincerely wants you to keep your stupid mouth shut this time.

"… Just tell me I don't have to talk to him."

"He's a traitor to the Empire under house arrest, and you're the knighted progeny of the Sufferer. Of course you don't."

She shuffles you up the platform and onto the train, while you keep your eyes either in front of you or on the ground. You don't want to look at him, you don't want to see if he's sorry or if he thinks you're garbage; you don't want to know what goes on in that fucked up head of his anymore. That ship sailed and sunk a long time ago.

Kanaya steers you to a private segmented car. It's the kind of luxury train you would have never dreamed of seeing before the war and the Sufferists. You and your infinite, deluded ambition said you'd get here some day, you just thought it'd be due to your own prowess rather than riding the coattails of your ancestor.

As if that asshole ever amounted to anything but a corpse who left you to get caught up in a fuckton of his shit.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kanaya asks, sounding tired in the seat across from you.

"About what." You ask sullenly as the monorail pulls forward, gaining speed as it whirrs through and out of the city.

"Whichever topic it is now that's resulted in you making such a sour face."

You feel your brow crinkle further.

"You're better off just ignoring me. If you pay attention to every stupid thing I say and every dumbass face I pull, I'll wind up being an even bigger nuisance than I ought to be."

Kanaya gives an upset kind of hum, like she wants to argue but is saving it for a time you're more likely to listen.

You sit in comfortable silence as you zip over the desert on an elevated rail, watching various shadowed beasts foraging under the moonlight. You can't help but wonder if this was what the _real_ old Alternia used to look like, when she was her own planet far away from humans and Tricksters or whatever else.

 


End file.
